Drunken Fairytales
by MeinBritishBroski
Summary: UKUS/USUK. Lemon/smut/yaoi, and a poor, overused plot. Guilt, self-hatred, other angst. Please read and review! :D "Arthur gets a bit tipsy and decides to follow through with one of his deepest desires. His own little 'fairytale'"
1. Tipsy Daydream

**Warning: **Sex, self-hatred, sappy behavior. And OOC.**  
>Soundtrack:<strong> Fairytale - Alexander Rybak

**Other:** My ability to write smut is literally nonexistent ever since I acquired this new thing... called a conscience, I believe? Anywho, a certain adult drilled it into my head and it's really hard to ignore! I think I did alright, considering I was rushing. c:

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><p>Arthur Kirkland marveled at the young boy before him, eyes devouring every bit of him. The Englishman couldn't help but notice how surreal the teenager looked. His skin was like porcelain - white, seemingly flawless, so pure and innocent and breathtaking. The daunting thought entered his mind that the luscious, delicious-looking skin could be broken, cut, bruised - the thought that the purity and flawlessness could be shattered and never repairable. His eyes were like sea - blue and gray, brooding and cheerful, shadows and light dancing with one another in perfect harmony - perfectly balanced. Arthur thought it had been impossible for emotions to physically swirl in someone's eyes - it was clear that he had been misled.<br>The evidence of an angel was standing directly in front of him. Maybe he was the devil - the rawest form of temptation. Arthur licked his lips, moistening them, for they had gone dry.

The American boy, - not really a boy, but not over eighteen years of age - Alfred, looked up at the Englishman from where he sat at his desk just inside the doorway, tilting his head down, in a seemingly innocent manner, he asked, "Did you want something?"  
>He smirked devilishly, and Arthur gulped, trying to swallow the lump that built up in his throat. <em>That skin, so tantalizing... so breakable... he could break it if he wanted to... he could shatter it...<em>Why had he come into the other's room for anyway? Was he coming to tell him dinner was ready? Alfred's smile broadened, his eyes flashing mischievously. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

Arthur wasn't sure what had overpowered him - some ungodly force, or the physical desire, buried underneath all his manners and guilt. His lips covered the other's mouth, his hands fisting his hair, fingers tracing little patterns around Alfred's head.  
>The young American's bewildered expression slowly melted into one of pleasure as the shorter man's tongue tasted and explored the wet cavern of his mouth, memorizing every inch of it. His cerulean eyes slid until they were closed, his arms moving to pull the other closer to him abruptly.<br>Arthur took a few tentative steps forward, finding that the younger willingly obliged to the suggestion that they move back onto the bed, stepping back until his knees hit the foot of the bed, he sat down, allowing the British man to straddle him. _He'll let me... he'll let me break him... he wants me to..._Arthur thought numbly as he pushed the other down completely, making quick work of the other's clothes. Arthur began to ravish the other's well-built, finely-toned body. His tongue lapped slowly at Alfred's Adams apple, making the younger man groan in pleasure, fingers running sensually up and down the sides of the American's hips, which bucked, rubbing their groins together.

_He's so beautiful..._This was another one of his sick dreams, wasn't it? This wasn't happening. He would wake up in his armchair with cold tea sitting on the side table, an open book in his lap. It wasn't like he'd never had an erotic dream similar to this... but this felt so real...

_This has to be a fairytale..._

Retracting his fingers from the other's skin, he brought three of them up to his own lips, sucking on them teasingly. The American teenager watched, sweat beaded to his forehead. He looked breath-taking to the older man, absolutely sexy. In a jerky motion, Alfred took off Arthur's clothes - leaving them both completely naked, he lay back down again. Arthur watched hungrily as the one beneath him became increasingly aroused.

Alfred was watching all of this in a warm kind of haze, barely registering it when the older, more experienced man slipped a digit into his virgin entrance. He definitely felt the second one, eyes widening in shock and agonizing pain with the third one added. He mewled and fisted the sheets, writhing as the other stretched him wide, fingers going deeper to scrape against a soft bundle of nerves deep inside him.

He arched his back, moaning. White rushed to fill his vision, sensations traveling at lightning speed up his spine. Nothing was important now - he just wanted Arthur to keep going, to keep making him feel like this. Alfred growled deep in his throat when the fingers were removed.  
>"Please..." Alfred murmured as Arthur placed himself at the other's puckered entrance, nodding a little bit, silently promising to continue.<p>

_Just some kind of sick fairytale, you stupid wanker, this isn't real. _He convinced himself that there were no consequences to this. Just another, extremely detailed, realistic, wet-dream.  
>Before he could change his mind, he thrust into the other none too gently. The tight heat contracted around his length, making him groan.<p>

_Oh God... oh God...! This isn't a dream... oh my God... no! Damnit, no! I'm horrible! This is a sin! Dear Lord, kill me now..._

Alfred's hands flew away from the sheets, instinctively grabbing around Arthur, nails digging deep into the British man's skin, leaving angry red welts. He moaned, clenching tightly around the other.  
>"Ah... hah... Al... You need to... relax..." Arthur panted, removing himself slowly, only to thrust back in harder than the first time, hitting that sweet spot and drawing out more moans from Alfred. Soon they had a steady timing, bucking and thrusting in time with each other, moaning and groaning, planting sloppy kisses everywhere on each other - Arthur leaned over and sucked hard on the other's neck in a mindless daze, leaving a purple mark.<p>

Arthur got caught up in a rhythm, no longer kissing or murmuring things to the boy underneath him. The sooner this was over with - the better. This was wrong on so many levels. _So many horrible, sinful, lust-filled levels. _He struck the other's tight bundle of nerves repeatedly, earning himself moans as sweet as honey, but trying to block them out by screwing his emerald eyes shut.

Alfred's head was thrown backwards as he came onto both their stomachs and chests - seeing white, panting, and feeling oddly uncomfortable as Arthur thrust one last time and came deep, deep inside him - filling him to the brim with his essence. Arthur clenched his teeth tightly as he pulled out, falling to lie besides the other _man_, but turning his back to him.

Alfred turned so he was resting on his stomach, face buried into soft pillows. Sleep quickly took his spent body, he didn't know what just happened. He had been a little dimwitted at times, but now he felt terrible - he didn't think that his first time would be like this.  
>After a while, Arthur sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and resting his face in his hands - crying silently from the weight of it all.<p>

_He_ had tainted that pure, innocent body. _He alone _had broken it.

There was a small part of him that was satisfied, some inner thirst he had quenched. The thirst for that young, fresh skin, the thirst that had wanted to destroy something beautiful and righteous. He despised his actions. He despised himself.  
>Arthur got up, grabbing his clothes up from the floor - where they had been carelessly tossed aside. He slipped them on and stepped out into the hall, closing the door slowly, pausing only to get a final glance of the sleeping American.<p>

_"Oh I'm in love,_  
><em>With a fairytale<em>  
><em>Even though it hurts<em>  
><em>'Cause I don't care if I lose my mind<em>  
><em>I'm already cursed..."<em>

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><p>Arthur's head was pounding in time with his heart, warmth pooled in his belly as he clutched a topped-off mug of rum. Four hours had passed since he'd tainted his little boy... his sweet innocent little boy...<br>The bar would be closing soon, and he'd have to somehow find his way home. Sluggishly, he sat up and took sloppy gulps from the mug, managing not to splash any on his white shirt - when he had completely downed the drink, he buried his head in his arms, weeping quietly once again.

The bell by the door tingled as someone entered, heavy boots hitting the wooden floor with a 'clunk'.

"Oui, I'll 'ave whatever 'e is 'aving." a mug was filled and exchanged for cash, then the tall, blond-haired Frenchman sat down next to Arthur, and began to scrutinize him through narrowed eyes. "Why are vous so gloomy, Angleterre?" he asked quietly, tentatively placing a hand on the other's trembling back - Arthur still had his head down, still sobbing.

"Oh...Frog..._ hic_... I've fucked up royally! I tainted my colony...my little Alfred..." he slurred, his words muffled by sobs and hiccups. Francis pursed his lips - because that was a perfectly valid reason to get drunk and wallow in one's sadness. "I'm going to Hell..."

"I don't zink zat God will send vous to Hell for having urges of zat sort, Angleterre-"

"You don't get it! God damnit, git! I practically raped him... I'm a rapist! I don't even recall giving him the 'talk'-"

"Oh, well, I did that, mon petit lapin. I told both Matthew and Alfred what it was when zey were very young."

Instantaneous rage flared through Arthur, making him cringe and stiffen. So he hadn't taken that innocence away - but he had still defiled his body. Helped to defile his mind. He lifted his head, losing his bearing of which way was up, and exactly what the floor was - he wasn't phased when Francis wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him.

Arthur talked and cried and gripped on to Francis's shirt. He babbled on and grew angry with himself, occasionally slamming his fists onto the table. He continued until the bartender announced the end of his shift, forcing them to leave. The cold night wind surprised Arthur, making him shiver involuntarily in the Frenchman's arms. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be led to the other's house - where the charming long-haired man had offered his bed to the drunkard. He pointed out the nearest restroom, and said he wouldn't mind if he stayed for breakfast. If he needed anything, Francis said he would be asleep in the sitting room.

Arthur had a hard time succumbing to sleep. He tossed and turned and tried to get comfortable in that bed meant for two. Eventually he fell into a slumber filled with nightmares and screaming children, beatings, and crying. It felt like a mere moment after he fell asleep, before he was jarred away by Francis's frantic shaking - he held a white home phone in his hand, mouthing 'It's him.' and handing it to him. Even though he didn't really want to speak to him, even though his heartbeat was thundering against his skull, he answered the phone.

"'ello?" he greeted weakly, propping himself up on the pillow, watching as Francis left the room and shut the door behind him.

"W-where are you?" Alfred's voice didn't sound right. It sounded unsure, scared ..._ worried?_

_"_What's the matter?" He bit his tongue after - he had been close to ending the word _baby_ after that sentence. He had always used to call him that, but now it would be awkward. Had he really corrupted their relationship this much?

"When did you leave? I-I won't be mad, I just want to know-"

"I left right after you fell asleep, Alfred."

"Where did you go?"

"I went to the bar. I got dead drunk so I had to spend the night at a friend's house. I'll be home soon, alright? We'll go... get.. uhm, some pancakes and talk, does that sound all right?" _Baby, my sweet little angel, it's alright...  
><em>There was a long pause, Arthur didn't mind listening to nervous breathing. _I'm so sick in the head..._

Alfred said one quiet phrase before he hung up abruptly. Six words that made the Briton's heart stop dead in his seemingly-empty chest -

_"I think I love you, Arthur."_


	2. Awakening Nightmare

**Warning:** OOC-ness (I think, I don't know) and overall crappy writing.  
><strong>Soundtrack: <strong>Posters - Jack Johnson / Big Girls Don't Cry - Fergie

**Other:** A lot of you have been asking for it - and I'm truly sorry for this. I had no inspiration besides those two songs. I do, however have inspirate for the next _**two**_ short chapters. If you haven't noticed, these chapters has lots of angst. ;n; Please review and correct any mistakes I've made. Oh and I might make a part two of this chapter because nothing was resolved and it's just Alfred with mentions of Arthur.

OTL

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><p>Alfred felt numb. He felt stupid. He felt as if the entire world was crashing down around him. Why did he say that over the phone? It was all pointless wasn't it? It didn't matter if he wasn't legal, it mattered that he had been trying and failing to show the other how much he wanted to be like him. He had failed to show him that he wanted all that power Arthur had possessed when he was in his prime. He <em>thirsted<em> for it. He _thirsted_ for approval. He hadthirsted after Arthur for _years_.

But now that he had gotten it... he wasn't so sure...

Arthur wasn't gentle. The ex-pirate wasn't kind, and his strengths were slowly being sapped away by everyday life and responsibilities. He was becoming more sensitive, more emotionally strained and confused.  
>Alfred couldn't get rid of that memory - the sickening smell of alcohol that had clung to the other's breath, the stench that had laced the other's passionate words with lies. Maybe he hadn't meant anything by last night. Maybe Arthur really <em>hated<em>him. Maybe-

His thoughts were cut off abruptly by a friendly, baritone voice.  
>"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, Young Master Jones, but did Master Kirkland say something about pancakes?" It was just Arthur's butler - he had a heavy British accent, and a curt way of speaking. Alfred wasn't too fond of how he addressed him, but he was too tired to protest, simply nodding his head.<p>

The butler closed the bedroom door and walked away, presumably the kitchen. Leaving Alfred alone, sitting amongst the sheets which were entangling his naked limbs, phone thrown dejectedly on the bedside table next to a stale glass of water.  
>Looking at his desk he saw pictures of himself, all lined up in a neat row off to the side. All of them scribbled on with pen. Most of them were of him wearing capes, standing with his chest and cheeks puffed out - his various attempts at being the hero.<p>

He smiled bitterly. Had he really been that carefree once? Why couldn't he have that mindset again? What was he doing wrong? His mind rolled and churned in turmoil, chaos, never settling with one thought on the matter, never coming up with a name to describe his feelings at the moment. He was angry at Arthur for drinking so much, he was sad that it had to be like this between the two of them, he was relieved that they had finally gotten it over with. His heart was fluttery, but his eyelids felt heavy. His stomach rumbled with hunger but he felt as though he would vomit if food passed his lips.

He wished he could be younger - even younger than he already was. He wished his eyes were brighter, he wished his cheeks were rounder; he wished ... he wished... he wanted...

He wanted to laugh at himself.

_"Looking at himself  
>But wishing he was someone else<br>Because the posters on the wall,  
>They don't look like him at all<em>

_So he ties it up, he tucks it in, he pulls it back, and gives a grin_  
><em>Laughing at himself because he knows he ain't loved at all..."<em>

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><p>He got to his feet, wincing at the pain that shot up all along his body. Alfred gritted his teeth, and hissed as he walked awkwardly to his dresser, pulling out fresh clothes - jeans and a shirt that was three sizes too big.<p>

Alfred considered taking a shower, but decided against it. He didn't want to look into the mirror and see darkened eyes, a neck covered in hickies, and a scowl on his face - which was what he would certainly find. He could already feel throbbing points of pain on his hips from Arthur's hands.  
>He dreaded the moment when Arthur would come home and see him like this. Alfred was convinced, somewhere deep down in his heart that Arthur would continue to ignore him in order to forget all that had happened.<p>

Disgruntled, he flopped down on his bed, pulling his legs close to his chest and stretching himself painfully. He wanted to call someone and ask what he should do. But who could he call? Who could he call that knew about these things?

_Francis_?

No. He refused to call that pervert. Maybe he should just leave - that was Arthur's solution to everything, so why couldn't it be his solution too? The more the idea brewed in his head, the more he was assured that it was what he should do. He loved Arthur. He loved him so much that he was restraining himself from speaking his mind. Alfred was literally owned by the other - and it hurt.

_Property_.

Might as well have a sign on his back that said 'slut'. Or a tattoo just above his ass that said 'Arthur's Bitch'.

He was just a piece of property and he hated it. Alfred hated being treated like a child. He decided that if Arthur decided to ignore him after they talked today - then he would leave. He would leave and become his own person. He would break free from the spider's web and fly away.

_"The path that I'm walking  
>I must go alone<br>I must take the baby steps until I'm full grown  
>Fairytales don't always have a happy ending, do they?<br>And I foresee the dark ahead if I stay…"_


	3. Surreal Happenings

**WARNING:** Violence, yaoi, and inaccurate history.  
><strong>SONG:<strong> Meds - Placebo

**A/N;** Guess what we're reviewing in History class? You guessed it. I need to focus on history and not just keep re-writing it to fit this fandom because I'm failing that class. xD **R&R!**

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><p>The promised breakfast was not what Alfred had originally hoped it would be. It consisted of Arthur walking in an hour late, cursing the rain and the mud and the rest of the world. It consisted of Arthur screaming until his lungs burst and the inside of his throat was reduced to that of sandpaper. The American teenager sat in front of his untouched plate of cold banana pancakes and a chilled cup of tea, he listens. Listens to what his superior tells him to do because that's all he's allowed. What he must do, how he must act, what he must avoid. The order that apalled him the most - "Watch the thoughts in your head, lad."<p>

All Alfred could think through this was 'I will not listen to you. Who are you to say what I can and cannot do? To think I tried to be so much like you, I tried to stiffle my horrible speech and sound like you. No longer. I'm done. _Done._' Thinking those thoughts formed a rebellious bubble that swelled in his chest and flashed in his eyes. Arthur saw this. He saw this and he was angered.

_I've already wasted so much time, effort, and money on this colony of mine... already I'm destroying him piece by piece. _But no, he wasn't destroying him. He was building him up. Because Alfred was stubborn. He was stubborn and beautiful and always seemed to have his views twisted and piled up in such a way that made him go in the opposite direction everyone expected him to go in. He was America - he was smart, he mimicked, he was brave, bold, stupid. Contradiction. Contradiction and determination was what made him.

"For every cent your people cost me, you will pay for it in your people's blood." The Englishman nodded stiffly, satisfied with the horrified look on his colonies face. Satisfied that he had managed to scare him into staying. Satisfied with the fact that Alfred was now _frightened _of him.

Last night Francis had hinted that he felt sorry for the Englishman's colony. Paranoia set in, driving itself deep into the Briton's brain. If people noticed what was going on then he was screwed. Francis had called at night and had coerced with the Spanish man known as Antonio, who had then, in turn called up the Prussian known as Gilbert. Arthur had listened to their three-way conversation from his drunken haze in the bedroom, catching bits and pieces of a serious talking. From what he could gather - they were planning to step in if things got too crazy.

Alfred had no clue that he had some unseen backup, so he bit his lip hard and nodded in agreement to Arthur's threat. He got up and brought his dishes with him to the kitchen, the house-keeper was there but he wouldn't let her take them from him. He walked over to the sink and washed them himself. Arthur followed, eyes narrowed; watching the American like a hawk.

When Alfred was sure the house-keeper had moved on to another room, he swung around and launched himself at Arthur, trying in vain to knock the well-muscled man over. Arthur gasped and instinctively wrapped his fingers around Alfred's neck, pinning him to the ground and leaning over him, watching as the American's mouth twisted into a snarl, dazzling white teeth making their appearance. Alfred squirmed beneath him for the second time this week, this time out of pain and discomfort rather than pleasure.

"Don't test me, America."

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><p><em>"Why do they run away from you, Engwand?"<em>

_"Because my nation has the strongest navy in the world. We rule the seas!" the Englishman said proudly, gesturing out to the great blue, twinkling ocean spread before them. He smiled, green eyes alight with life and pride as he showed the small blond-haired boy beside him his empire._

_And the boy smiled because he was impressed. He smiled when England came home with bloodied hands and rubies that were really diamonds off of wedding rings. He smiled at meetings when others mumbled behind England's back._

_That's all he knew how to do. That was all England ever taught him._

_Smile like nothing is wrong._

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><p>America applied that now. He smiled, smiled right in Arthur's face until his head felt like it was splitting. Until his vision grew fuzzy from the breaking pressure in his neck. His eyes filled with water and all he could see was green. His hands went up to rest of Arthur's, who twitched, eyes glazed over. Arthur was unsure of what he was doing. Was Alfred soothing him? Egging him on?<p>

"Kill what's wrong." he croaked, smiling even wider.

That was what made Arthur let go.

The demonic smile. The suicidal glint in those dead blue eyes.

"Just get it over with before _you_ get hurt. Like you told me before... what goes up, must come down... and no one will care enough to catch you when you fall."

A slap to the cheek. A gasp. A punch to the nose. Arthur held the bridge of his nose, eyes wide in shock. Alfred lay where he was, not moving to cup his cheek, which was stinging like a bitch, but instead he pushed himself up and glared.

"Talk to me when you're not on something, England."

"Alfred, I-"

But he was already out the door, not taking a jacket, he was only responsible enough to slip on his shoes before heading out into the dreadful downpour of rain. A strong tug in the pit of his stomach made his walk even slower, the tugging sensation made him think that going to Arthur and apologising would fix everything. Then they could be together and Arthur would watch over him and say those three words Alfred wanted returned.

The American paid no mind to the citizens casting wary glances, nor the important figures glaring at him. They didn't matter, and neither did he.

_Forgetting names and faces,_  
><em>Passersby were looking at me;<em>  
><em>As if they could erase it<em>

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><p><strong>AN;** All right, I know this is probably inaccurate. But you can't blame me - America has a horrid school system. Friedrich von Steuben? Yeah, Prussia's going to be filling in that part while France and Spain will be there too. The next chapter will be like... a filler... with me trying in vain to squeeze in last-minute PruCan (nothing intimate, just a certain Canadian will see the Prussian general and be all 'OHMYGOD_HORMONES_OOPS')

You guys were begging me for another chapter... so I hope you're happy with what you've got. xD


	4. Rem Recovery

**Warning: **Mentions of ongoing PruCan and... I don't know. This is really just a filler and you _know_ this had to be updated. **THIS CHAPTER IS REALLY SHORT - REST ASSURED THE NEXT ONE WILL BE LONGER.  
>Soundtrack: <strong>This is a filler... the next chapter will have lyrics with it... I can tell you the song for the next chapter - _**Becoming Insane - Infected Mushroom.**_ Spain and France might be there though it's going to be exclusively Prussia teaching him how to fight... Spain might tease him a bit though. Because he's Spain.

ANYWAY. UPDATE. HERE. **R&R~?**

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><p>The icy rain that pounded down even harder the moment he slammed the door was just a poor representation of Arthur's wrath. He knew that if he turned around now, he would surely be beaten even worse. This was made evident by the deafening sound of thunder and the sudden lack of people in the area. He walked so far into the night that his legs began to quiver with each step, his soaked clothes aiding gravity in pulling Alfred to his knees. Yet the tugging in the pit of his stomach was urging him to go back home - because Arthur was warm, he was safe... he would keep him secure.<p>

_No, no he won't._

Then he heard a voice, so ragged and gruff, like it had been hacked away at with a dagger. Alfred looked up to see a lazy smile and flashing eyes. Inside he was skeptical. But on the outside he looked crumpled, sore, and defeated.

"Ah... Arthur's boy, hm? You probably remember me - of course no one can forget me - I'm Gilbert."

"I'm Alfred."

"Arthur's boy."

"Well what would _you_ know, jackass?"

"How dare you insult the almighty_ Preußen-?_ Never mind. The point is - you're weak; I'm strong. Francis told me you needed some help and I am here to assist."

Alfred cast a wary glance up at him. He opened his mouth to protest, malice and rejection in his eyes, but his protest died in his throat when his hair was yanked back, rough lips smashed against his own and teeth clashed forcefully; he gasped. Gilbert straightened, devious, movements fluid as he gave the other a toothy grin and crossed his arms.

"Not as sweet-tasting as your _bruder. _Tsk, tsk. Artie's losing his touch." he crowed.

Fire was lit inside Alfred's veins. He got to his feet and made a wild attempt to punch the other, much like he had punched Arthur earlier today, but his fist was caught in another - one seemingly made of iron. Gilbert squeezed and one of his knuckles cracked, he forced him down back on his knees. The American coughed and didn't struggle much, or even respond when those slender fingers gripped at his hair again and ghosted over the nape of his neck in an almost loving fashion.

"Weak." he chided.

"Pathetic." he mocked.

Alfred clenched his fists and bit his lip so hard that the taste of iron flooded his mouth. He choked back words that certainly would have cracked like ice when exposed to the Prussian's fiery gaze.

"So protected... lusted over... but you're broken. Everyone sees it. You're losing."

"Shut up..." he muttered.

"Ah, what was that?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Defiance... that's good, kid. It's gonna help you now and hurt you later. But let's make it help you now, shall we?"

Reluctantly, Alfred nodded.


	5. Lucid Insanity

**warning; **not historically accurate.

**soundtrack; **becoming insane - infected mushroom

if no one is reading this anymore it's going to be taken down! c: just thought i'd give a heads up!

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><p>His vision was tinted with black. Alfred found himself wondering which direction was up, which one was forward. A lighthearted laugh met his ears and he cringed against the oncoming punch to the stomach. He was already exhausted from learning to shoot and work with his rifle; now he was being forced to dance with this Spanish devil?<p>

Sweat poured from his forward as he ducked and jabbed, nailing Antonio in the shoulder. His hit barely fazed the conquistador. Antonio barely looked worn out, he jumped up and down on the balls of his feet; looking like a child ready to receive his birthday gifts. All he did was laugh at the American's appearance. Laugh.

_And laugh._

_And laugh._

"_Jajajaja_, dance with me, Americano!" It was a friendly voice; an invitation. Alfred obliged, charging at him headfirst and wrapping his arms around the Spaniards waist; knocking him to the ground with an audible _thump_. Antonio's laugh was joined by the Prussian and the Frenchman.

They were messing with him. Taunting him. Gilbert was standing there, glaring down at him, telling him what to do and how to do it and if he did it he could win against everyone he ever fought. But _why? What was his motivation? _He was still contemplating this when Antonio grabbed his shirt collar and flung him with surprising strength. Just as quick he was there, teeth bared in a snarl and face half an inch from his own, panting, huffing. Antonio hit him once more and a warm gush of blood erupted from his nose and trickled down to his lips.

He smeared it with the back of his hand and smacked his lips, retaliating with an icy glare. He turned to Gilbert, whose face was emotionless.

"Well?"

"Why am I doing this?" The American whispered. Gilbert took to examining his torn nails, looking disinterested before he was suddenly very livid, making a grand show of his next sentence.

"In all my years of training... _not one soldier has asked me why he was fighting."_

"...And...?"

"The fuck should I know! What the hell _are_ you fighting for, Mr. Jones?" he asked with a wicked grin. The Spaniard had also turned his head to listen to the mockery. The Prussian took two fingers to his forehead and then waved them at him - Antonio turned back to Alfred. He gripped the American's shirt and hoisted him up, nearly choking him... but not quite. Alfred gagged and clawed at Antonio's fingers.

"Put me down, this isn't fair."

"Then you should find a way to make it fair, no?"

"You're insane."

"The entire world is insane, chico. Do not fret - you will adapt."

Then he was falling - the Spaniard had let go and the light airy chuckle and the harsh guffawing from the other two were joined by the musical laughter of his previous attacker. Dark, beautiful stars danced in front of him when his skull collided with the hard ground beneath him. He blinked and looked up, greeted by harsh green eyes that he knew did not belong to the man he loved, but instead to someone ruthless and passionate - not quiet and reserved and usually so proper. They were different, but the same. Predatory. Hostile.

_"Get up, you're all right; just a scrape. I'll get you a bandage, Al."_

He was hoisted to his feet by calloused unfamiliar hands - but his head was still swimming in memories. In his mind's eyes he was five and his older brother was running to the kitchen to grab a bandage to bind his scraped knees. He was going to be scolded for being clumsy and then he was going to receive a pat on the head and a burnt biscuit. _The entire world is insane, chico. _

_No me acuerdo lo que paso  
>Ni me di cuenta ni que me pico<br>Todo da vueltas como un carrusel  
>Locura recurre todita mi piel<em>

_(I don't remember what happened  
>I didn't even notice what stung me<br>Everything spins like a carousel  
>Madness travels across my skin)<em>

__**** let me know if the translations are incorrect. i am not a native spanish speaker and have only been learning for half a year! thank you~! c:**


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